Open Book
by wrldpossibility
Summary: : Rick Castle can count on one hand the number of things he's sure of when it comes to understanding Kate Beckett.  Missing scene fic for 3.24


Title: Open Book

Author: wrldpossibility

Fandom: Castle

Characters: Castle/Beckett

Word Count: 650

Warning: Spoilers for 3.24

Summary: Rick Castle can count on one hand the number of things he's sure of when it comes to understanding Kate Beckett.

Author's Note: First Castle fic. Hopefully won't be my last, unless I'm too rusty! This is a missing scene/scene-filler fic for three separate scenes in 3.24, Knockout.

Open Book

Rick Castle can count on one hand the number of things he's sure of when it comes to understanding Kate Beckett, but this much has been proven irrevocable: with her, timing is everything. Her default mode of operation may be 'closed', but when she opens up, you can read her like a book.

If you blink, you'll miss it: her pause, the startled intrigue, the slight widening of her eyes and mouth at something he's said, like she's jumping at her own shadow. It's a moment as fleeting (and as simple) as the space between yes and no, stop and go, and if he's lucky, Castle can skim the surface of her face for just enough intel to hold him until next time before it's over. He'd once likened it—in a iHeat/i manuscript, actually—to idling at an intersection: Rook's waiting, waiting, trying to resist revving the engine, and then the light turns, and there she is, a ribbon of highway laid out before him. (Figuratively speaking…unfortunately.)

Castle's no Rook, but tonight he'd flown through midtown traffic without a hitch just to hit the brick wall he'd known awaited him at Beckett's apartment. It's as formidable as Kate herself whenever he sticks his nose where he shouldn't, whenever he tips his hand, shows he cares. He's plenty used to the impact.

He's always been a glutton for punishment (or maybe he's just your garden variety masochist) so he tries to convince her to walk away from this mess of a conspiracy anyway. He'd promised her father he would. The depressing part is that Jim Beckett had actually thought he'd have some success.

_Partners. Friends._

He'd walked right into that one. What he hadn't expected? The question she'd slung at him, brazen as only someone who really, really wants an answer can be:

_Is_ that _what we are?_

It'd been full-steam ahead then, but not in the right direction.

In the hanger, he lets her say her piece to Montgomery, but out of the corner of his eye, he's watching the progression of the beam of lights that mean Lockwood's approach. He feels every layer of the urgency she doesn't, and when he can't stand it another instant, he grabs her from behind, flattening her arms to her sides in a show of strength he's sure surprises both of them.

Pressed against her to the hood of the car, one hand clamped over her mouth, he takes no pride in his ability to overpower her. Her sobs wet his palm and her anger radiates from every inch of her, and ishhh, shhh, shhh/i he's sorry, he's so, so sorry to take this choice away from her, but there's no time for debate. The way they argue, they could be here all night.

He knows it cheapens him, but he'll do anything for a laugh. _Her_ laugh, anyway. It's rare, and usually unexpected, and to Castle, it's like a wide open _yes_ to him, to them, to life itself in a way that reminds him just how young and carefree she ought to feel all the time.

She'd called him the funniest kid in class (sarcastically, but still), but in the days between Montgomery's death and his funeral, he's fresh out of jokes. Not that it matters; apart from the private debriefing, they haven't spoken. It's more out of exhaustion than anger, but she won't answer his calls, and he can't blame her; after their wrestling match in the hanger, he doubts either of them know where to begin.

When he sees the glint of the barrel across the cemetery lawn, there's a moment of hesitation between comprehension and action for which he knows he'll never forgive himself. By the time the switch in his brain has turned on again, and he's moving, running, yelling, it's not fast enough. He's _never_ fast enough to outrun what hunts and haunts her, and he doesn't know what made him think this time would be any different. She hits the grass and he follows her to the ground, and her face is a floodgate of the word _Castle, Castle_, and he answers _I'm here, I'm here, Kate_, but it comes out _I love you._

Because if there's one thing he knows, it's when that light turns green, you'd better gun it.


End file.
